


The Bitter Taste of Losing

by Lady_Gadfly



Series: Maleval Week 2014 [2]
Category: Maleficent (2014)
Genre: F/M, Lots of Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-25
Updated: 2014-08-25
Packaged: 2018-02-14 16:15:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2198418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Gadfly/pseuds/Lady_Gadfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are no other creatures in the moors with horns like hers. They are Maleficent's badge of honour, and her curse. Written for Maleval Week Day 2: Tragedy/Pain (+Death/Fatal Injury).</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bitter Taste of Losing

Maleficent is the only creature in the moors with horns like hers.

There are satyrs, minotaurs, fauns, imps, even some of the goblins have little curly horns on their lumpy brown heads.

None of their horns look like hers.

She remembers the day she was told the meaning of the budding horns on her head. She remembers the creaking voice of the seer as he told her of the immense responsibility that had been bestowed upon her.

And why, ultimately, she would always be alone.

~

Maleficent wonders if it would have been easier if Diaval had aged as Aurora had done. That at least had prepared her, in a way, for her impending mortality.

It had nearly destroyed her to see her little beastie grow gray and wrinkled as years had gone by. She had married Philip and given them many beautiful grandchildren that Maleficent cherished so much she felt as though her heart would burst. But each child took it's toll on the beautiful queen. The years sped by and the faerie despaired at how terrible it was to love something mortal.

Aurora's back grew stooped, her steps slowed. Delicate hands became knotted with arthritis. She forbade her godmother's use of magic to give her some of her youth back, scolding her and saying that it was unnatural. Maleficent knew she was right. She didn't care.

When the queen's time was close Maleficent stole into her chambers. King Philip had passed many years before. The grandchildren had married off, the eldest son doing a fine job of being king, with his own family to see to. The healer was knocked out with a sleeping spell. No-one would miss her until morning.

Flying as carefully as she could to the moors, Maleficent held her daughter under the blackthorn tree she had once called home as a child. She rocked her, singing fae lullabies and stroking her hair. The moon was a thin crescent in the sky. Her mother had told her, when she was a child, that the moon was mother to all. Always watching as she waxed and waned.

_'Please. If she has to let her go peacefully.'_ She prayed.

“Mother?”

“Yes, beastie?”

“You haven't changed at all, have you? You still look as beautiful as the day I first met you.” Aurora smiled.

“As do you, Aurora.”

“Oh, liar.” Aurora gave a gasp of laughter.

“No.” Maleficent looked into her blue eyes, still bright and beautiful in spite of the years that had passed. “You do.” Aurora smiled and then winced looking panicked.

“Father? Father where-”

“I'm here little one.” Diaval came closer, taking one bony cold hand in his. “I'm right here.”

“Take care of each other.”

“We always do.” Diaval forced a smile but Maleficent could see tears forming in his eyes.

“Thank you. Both of you. For giving me a beautiful life.”

She had drifted into a sleep from which she would never awaken. Diaval and Maleficent held her until dawn, crying until they had no tears left. She was laid to rest among the roots of the tree.

~

The seer was ancient, with a voice that sounded like the creaking of tree boughs. He sat cross-legged in a mass of plant life, vines and roots twined about him so it seemed as though he was part of the land itself. And maybe he was. No-one knew how old he was, or where he had come from exactly. He had been in his grotto as long as anyone could recall.

Maleficent had felt herself called there the first time when she was but a child. She had gotten away from her parents somehow and gone wandering. Something within her tugged her forward, leading her deeper within the moors than she had ever gone. She came to the dank stone cave and fearlessly made her way down, down, down into the depths lit only by luminescent crystals.

When she first saw him she was aware that she should probably feel frightened. Yet her feet compelled her to move forwards and she did. As if in a dream she stood before him without fear and she recalled stories her parents had told her of land spirits.

“I am called Maleficent.” She spoke clearly, knowing what a powerful being could do with knowledge of her true name.

“I am called many names by many peoples, little one. You may call me seer. I have been waiting for you.”

~

Maleficent was the most powerful being in all of the moors. She could heal entire forests, raze castles to the ground, call forth elemental powers to enact a curse to change the course of destiny.

But for all her power, even she could not make a thing live beyond it's time indefinitely.

For a long time she could fool herself into believing that Diaval would live as long as she did. Like herself he showed no signs of age. His hair was as black, his face as unlined as it had been the day she first transformed him. They both lived many decades beyond Aurora's death, enjoying their own quiet lives in the moors. There was peace and they filled their days with flying, exploring, pranking the other creatures of the moors. At night they shared their nest, arms and legs entwined, hot kisses warming them even in the dead of winter.

Then Diaval lost the use of his wings.

He'd tried to hide it at first. Given the power to shift into any creature at will by Maleficent's magic he simply stuck to land bound animals for a long time. It was only when Maleficent, fear creeping down her spine, had forced his transformation and had seen his wings dragging uselessly on the ground that she realised.

Their time together was nearing an end.

And she felt as though her heart was tearing in two.

She had tried every healing spell she knew. Every potion, charm and incantation she could recall. Then she started making new ones up, fear and panic inspiring her as she grasped the threads of magic around her and desperately tried to weave them into a spell to save her love.

It was no use. His life, already so unnaturally extended for that of a common raven, was nearly over.

She held him in their nest, his body freezing no matter how many blankets she placed over them. She stroked his hair, gazing up at the full moon above them.

_'Please don't take him from me.'_ She prayed. _'Please. Not him. Don't take him too.'_

“Mal?” She hadn't noticed him wake.

“Yes, love?”

“Help me sit up.” Maleficent dragged him until he was leaning against the edge of the nest. His eyes were glassy but the smile on his face was as charming as it had always been. “I have the most incredible, powerful, beautiful mate in the whole of the moors.”

“My goodness. You must be sick.” Maleficent tried for deadpan but her voice quavered.

“Be quiet. Of course, being mated to my beautiful self was quite a boon for you too.” Maleficent rolled her eyes.

“Oh for the love of-”

“I'm glad I met you, Maleficent.” His tone turned serious. “I'm glad we had a life together. I have no regrets, save that it seems I shall not be able to keep the promise I made to our dear hatchling.”

“Diaval, please...” Her throat closed as a fresh wave of tears flowed from her eyes. Gods had she not cried enough?

“I wish we could have had children.” Diaval sighed wistfully. Maleficent's face crumpled. It had been a sore point for both of them. Although they had craved children, none had come to them. Although Diaval was in the shape of a man, he was still a raven after all. “Can you imagine how utterly _gorgeous_ our babies would have been?” Maleficent half laughed half sobbed.

“If they had taken after their father at all I'm sure they would have been _devastatingly_ beautiful.” Maleficent smiled, holding his hand tightly. Diaval raised his other hand to her face.

“Please. Don't let despair take over when I'm gone.”

“I promise nothing.” Maleficent answered flippantly, turning to look at the moon again.

“I mean it. Mal, look at me.” She reluctantly dragged her gaze back to him. She desperately tried to memorise all of him. His lilting yet raspy voice, the way his black eyes shone with warmth and love, the way his shifter's scars flowed and twisted over his skin.

“I'll try.”

She kissed him, and held him in her arms until the magic holding him in human form faded and a shivering raven lay in her hands. Eventually, he went still. Maleficent anguished screams echoed over the moors. Her wings had been taken from her once again.

~

“The moors called you here. Do you know why?” The child Maleficent shook her head. The seer did not seem pleased with her answer. Neither did he seem angry. “You have been called here because you have been chosen by the land to be it's warden.”

Maleficent nodded and said nothing.

“A warden is a guardian.”

“Like a warrior?”  
  
“That will be one of your duties, yes. But to be a warden of the land is more than that. You are to be a protector, a healer, a symbol of strength. Your mark,” He gestured to her recently erupted horns. “Proclaims you to be the chosen guardian. It is a crown, a symbol of honour. And also a warning.”

Maleficent touched a hand to the base of her horns, the flesh around them still tender. She'd had the two bumps on her head for as long as she could remember (her father joking that she had one each from when he and her mother had dropped her as a baby) but they had only recently broken through the skin. Judging by the shooting pains in her skull, they were still growing.

“What do you mean?”  
  
“Your duty is first and foremost to the land. It will always be to the land. Your very existence is tied to the land. Your strength is the strength of the moors and vice versa. You will live as long as the moors needs you to. You may live a very long time. Wardens have been known to live for several centuries.”

Maleficent's eyes widened. The seer continued.

“You will only be released from your duties when the moors chooses another to take your place. You will more than likely outlive the ones you love. It would behoove you to keep your heart to yourself and focus on your duties as much as possible.”

 

“I understand. I will.”  
  
“You do not and you will not. You will never fully understand until you lose something you hold dear.”

Maleficent bristled. “How do you know that?”  
  
“I am the seer. I see everything.”

“Oh really? The past, present and the future? All at once?”

“Everything.”

~

Maleficent had not visited the grotto in many years. Not since her wings had been stolen and a pall of despair first fell over the moors. Her feet had compelled her forward then, into the heart of the moors and down into the cave.

He had not looked angry with her, neither had he looked pleased. His voice was as even as it had ever been.

“Your grief poisons the land.”

“My grief is my own damn business.”

“It interferes with your duties.”

“I will continue my duties as normal. I will heal and protect the land to the best of my ability. But there is not a power on this earth that will make me _happy_ about it.”

She made her way there again now. The moors were not calling her. Her progress was slow and she got lost many times.

When she eventually found the cave the entrance was blocked by densely knotted vines that no amount of magic could shift.

She wanted to hack at the vines with an iron blade. She wanted to scream. She wanted to march her way down in to the grotto and engulf the seer in flames.

But there was no point. The blocked entrance was answer enough already.

Heartsick and tired, she flew back to her empty nest and wished she was dead.

~

She tried to let the land die, hoping that if she was remiss in her duties she would be released from them. But she could no sooner do that than she could throw herself from a cliff. She had tried. Her wings always snapped open out of instinct at the last second. Ignoring the wounds of the land itched at her mind until she relented and went out to heal them. And so she carried on. Guarding the land. Not letting anyone in.

Eventually one of Aurora's descendants inherited Stefan's tendency towards ambition and madness and their realms were plunged in to war once again.

The neighbouring lands that the king had tried to conquer came for the moors, bristling with iron and strange war machines. Maleficent broke apart the kingdoms and raised the thorn barrier once more. She fought with every fibre of her being, if only because Aurora and Diaval would have been proud of her for doing so.

Grief had slowed her, however, and an iron crossbow bolt found it's mark in her shoulder. She let herself fall.

She awoke in the dank gloom of the grotto. Maleficent did not look at him. The would was healed but for an ugly white scar. She could feel no iron poisoning left in her body.

“Why couldn't you just let me die?” She rasped.  
  
“It is not yet your time.”

“Please.” Her voice cracked. “Please just let me go.”

He did not sound disappointed, and he did not sound sympathetic.

“It is not yet your time.”

~

There were so many wars. So many kings and queens and conquerors that came and went and tried to cut them all down. The thorn barrier held. Centuries passed. Maleficent grew sad, then bitter, then numb.

Maleficent healed the land and fought invaders and sat up nights looking at the moon. She could no longer remember the exact timbre of Diaval's voice or the blue shade of Aurora's eyes.

She could no longer cry.

And still the years continued their merciless charge forward. The humans eventually contrived some bastardisation of magic and technology that brought down the thorn wall. Maleficent fought, and drove them out again, and felt nothing.

~

It was a pixie that brought her the news. A silly, twitchy little thing named Polleen that nevertheless had a lot more spine than most of her kind. She came to her nest blathering something about how sorry she was and how it was just awful well not really awful but awful for _her_ obviously and oh wasn't it just tragic the way these things were done...

Maleficent silenced her with a warning flicker of green flame cupped in her hand.

The pixie had told her where to find it. Deep within the emerald grove where the wood elves made their home she came across a small hut. Within was an elvish man, standing beside his wife. She sat in bed, a newborn babe in her arms. With a wary glance at each other, they presented the babe to her. On its head were two tell-tale bumps.

For the first time in many years, Maleficent laughed, and wept.

~

She could feel her magic leaving her. She couldn't really bring herself to care. As long as her wings held her until she got there that was all that mattered. She landed clumsily at the base of the tree that both Aurora and Diaval were laid to rest under.

She had no fear of death. She had craved its release for a long time.

It was a beautiful clear night and all the stars were visible. A waxing moon hung in the sky. The cold bit at her fingers and wings and she welcomed it.

She could feel herself growing fainter, her body becoming lighter and ephemeral.

“Wardens do not truly die.” The seer had told her once. “They are of the land. They return to the land.”

Maleficent breathed deep, and let herself drift out over the moors. The last thing she saw was the moon. A waxing moon. New beginnings.

_'Please. Let me see them again.'_

**Author's Note:**

> This story was actually inspired by the heavy “right to rule” overtones in the original script. That, along with Cyprith referring to Mal’s horns as “a kind of crown” in their modern magic AU led to the idea of Maleficent being a warden of the land.
> 
> The title comes from the Sarah McLachlan song ‘Fallen’. She makes good angst music. XD


End file.
